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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786694">The Riverside Tunnels</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/necroMatador/pseuds/necroMatador'>necroMatador</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Homelessness, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Prohibition Era, Rum Running, Speakeasies, fun fact ori is not a dragonborn he's a half dragon, he just doesn't know it yet because he's an orphan, well half dragon half dragonborn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 01:20:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27786694</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/necroMatador/pseuds/necroMatador</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Attacked on the streets, Ori the dragonborn heads to a place from a childhood memory to lay low and ends up meeting a rum-running operation.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Riverside Tunnels</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Get back here, you bum!” The cry echoed above the rainy alleyways of St. Starke, following after three hooligans with bats and bricks in hand. Just ahead was the clacking of claws on the stone streets as a solitary blue dragonborn in worn and unwashed clothing scrambled away from them. His eyes were wide and bright with fear, one side of his face a bruised mess, and he clutched weakly at one side of his torso.</p>
<p>The dragonborn cut down side street after side street with desperate but practiced ease as he tried to lose his pursuers. Ori, full name Ori'xiros though he rarely ever went by it, knew this city inside and out. He grown up here, in the streets. And oddly it was the ‘growing up’ part that caused him the most problems, he mused to himself as he ran so as to distract from the ribs that were probably broken in his scuffle with the thugs earlier. People weren’t outright cruel to a homeless child unless you got in their way, and were far more likely to be nice and show small favors out of pity. When you became a teenager, though, everything stated going downhill. And as an adult…just existing could attract hatred and violence no matter how much you stayed out of the way.</p>
<p>A few blocks later, once the sounds of the yelling pursuers had long faded away, Ori allowed himself to stop running. Not stop moving, but at least slow to a limping shuffle. When he stopped, he knew he wasn’t getting back up for a bit. His head ached, but none of his teeth seemed busted from that first hit where they’d knocked him down. No, all the real damage was in his chest, which felt like it was on fire every time he moved or breathed. Those bats and kicking feet had definitely broken at least one rib. Ori needed a place to lay low for a bit to recuperate, to sleep off the pain. At least he didn’t have a concussion; he knew what those felt like after a run-in with a cop as a teen.</p>
<p>The bridge overhangs would be prime turf tonight, what with the rain. It’d be a fight to get a place under there; a fight that Ori couldn’t risk in his current state. The park maybe? Nah, if those jerks were out hunting homeless then that’d be the next place they’d look. Where where where? And an idea sprang to mind. The secret smuggling tunnels on the sides of the river!</p>
<p>Ever since Ori was a kid there’d been bootlegging. After the laws were passed to prohibit alcohol and magic, it had only stepped up. Rum-runners cut secret tunnels in the banks of the river to hide the transport of their illegal goods. When he was little, on a night of heavy, icy rain, Ori had found one that was empty so he could take a quick nap somewhere dry. He’d been woken up not long after when a group of runners had come in with some shipments. It was terrifying, Ori had been sure he’d be killed for finding the tunnel. But when the runners noticed him, tiny and curled up and shivering, they’d been nice enough. One, wearing nicer clothes than the others so he must’ve been the boss, even gave him a piece of candy. Told Ori that if Ori needed a place to hide, as long as he kept it a secret he could use this tunnel entrance. Just say that ‘Mr. Wysor’ said it was okay.</p>
<p>Ori never went there again. Adults didn’t go out of their way to be cruel to homeless kids, but he’d heard enough stories of what could happen if you trusted them too much. It’d been nice for one small nap, but Ori hadn’t been keen on becoming a cautionary tale.</p>
<p>Tonight, though, he made his way slowly and painfully back to the tunnel entrance, hoping to the heavens that it hadn’t been compromised and collapsed as some runners did when they were found out. To his fortune, it wasn’t. And it was empty. So Ori crawled inside and all but collapsed against a wall. Curling his knees to his chest and trying to make himself as small as possible, he let himself fall asleep.</p>
<p>Not nearly as much later as he’d have liked, Ori was woken by the tell-tale sounds of runners coming in with a shipment.</p>
<p>“What the hell is this?” Someone yelled, and Ori, still curled up as small as he could with broken ribs, heard heavy footsteps heading his way. He couldn’t run, so he resolved to look as pathetic as possible. Not too difficult in his current condition. He turned his bruised face up to see an orc and a better dressed…human-type thing? He couldn’t tell, his vision was blurring a little.</p>
<p>“Mr. Wysor said I could sleep here if I needed,” Ori mumbled. The two looked at each other incredulously, and the maybe-human shook his head.</p>
<p>“All right, up you get, let’s get you out of here,” the orc began, grabbing Ori’s arm and attempting to stand him up. Ori could tell he wasn’t intentionally being rough about it, but it twisted his broken ribs in just the wrong way. He must have made some kind of noise, because the orc let go. Ori couldn’t support his own weight so suddenly, though, and his head was swimming in pain so he fell. He could feel a grinding in his chest as he hit the ground, and his vision went white before it started fading to black.</p>
<p>Ori woke up later, curled up in the same spot, but he’d clearly been fed a healing potion or something. There was the taste of one in the back of his throat and his chest no longer ached with every move, the bruising on the side of his face had disappeared. What had…they’d helped him instead of just throwing him out…how…why…?</p>
<p>Lexand Wysor, who had just inherited the speakeasy from his parents, would soon learn that this act of kindness was a mistake and a boon.</p>
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